After
by Kelsey
Summary: The day after Angel receives news of Buffy's death, this is how his grief plays out.


****

After

by

[Princess McPhee][1]

Disclaimer: I disclaim. They're not mine. Joss Whedon, David Greenwalt, the WB, Fox, UPN soon, but not me, own them.

Summary: The day after Angel receives the news of Buffy's death. 

Rating: G

> It hasn't sunk in. 
> 
> When Willow came to me yesterday, I knew, something in her gaze, that it was about Buffy, but I didn't expect to hear she was dead. I expected that she was once again, in some kind of mortal peril, and needed my help. Logically, I know that Slayers die, but never did I actually think about _my_ Slayer dying.
> 
> I collapsed, but I didn't cry. My legs wouldn't hold me up, my body reacting to the stress and shock, but my mind was numb. Classic denial, I suppose. It never goes away, no matter how many people you see die. 
> 
> Cordy was gaping, mouth wide, then tears running down her cheeks. She and Buffy disagreed on just about everything, but somewhere, deep down in there, they both knew they considered each other friends. She, too, fell at my side, clutching at me as I stared at the floor, still dry-eyed. 
> 
> Wes was just speechless, and Gunn looked saddened, but he didn't know Buffy, so it didn't affect him as much. We just waited that way until I looked up at Willow, my eyes wet but not yet overflowing, and asked, "How?"
> 
> Willow's voice seemed caught, and I knew she was trying not to cry too hard. "She... she sacrificed herself to save Dawn."
> 
> My gaze fell back to the floor once more. That was my Slayer, always thinking about others first. I didn't understand the events surrounding her death, but I didn't really care, either. After all, Buffy was still dead. There was no difference in how she died, the end was the same.
> 
> After a long moment, Willow spoke, seeing as none of us were going to. I clambered to my feet, taking Cordelia along with me as she opened her mouth, but my head still hung with sorrow. 
> 
> "We had the funeral yesterday," She told us. "We tried to get a hold of you, but you were nowhere to be found."
> 
> "We... we were in an... alternate dimension," Wesley explained softly, in a tone that reflected his disinterest in the matter.
> 
> Willow gave a little smile that didn't hold any humor. "I guess that would explain it," She said. 
> 
> Pausing, she waited to see, I guess, if we had anymore questions. When no one spoke, she headed for the door. "Come and see us if you want," She said. "Dawn's with Spike right now, but she'll be at Giles's later."
> 
> That got my attention. I didn't know the Slayer's little sister very well, but if I were the Scoobies, I wouldn't want her hanging out with Spike. "What's she doing with him?" I asked, an inflection of disgust on the word 'him'. 
> 
> Willow shrugged, her movements slow in her grief. "I don't know. She asked, Spike said fine, Giles was too torn up to protest, I guess that's it."
> 
> I nodded. Spike wasn't my favorite person, but Buffy had told me in some of her previous letters that he'd been changing. And if a girl who'd just lost her whole family in the space of a few months knew who she wanted to comfort her, then the others should probably butt out.
> 
> Willow left. I later realized that I probably should have offered her a place to stay the night, but I wasn't thinking straight. In fact, I was hardly thinking at all. The only thing that went through my head all night was 'Buffy's dead. Buffy's dead. Buffy's dead.' 
> 
> Over and over again.
> 
> When I woke up this morning, I was just as numb as last night. But I can feel something, a dam of some sort inside of me, ready to burst if I tweaked it the right way. But I don't want to let it go, don't want to let it out, because I'm afraid of what I'll do. I don't always have the best control of my anger in times of grief.
> 
> I'm just going through the motions, drinking some blood, dressing, heading down to the lobby of the Hyperion. Cordelia is there, doing nothing, softly weeping in the corner. I start to go to her, but she sends me away with a look. 
> 
> Wesley is in another corner of the room, pretending to read an old book, but he looks up so often, just staring into space, that no one believes he actually has any idea what the book is about. Gunn is nowhere to be found.
> 
> I crash out on the couch, my eyes un-focusing and my hearing going off the alert, into that semi-trance state that always seems so peaceful. But not today. Today, the constant humming in my mind, that seems to want the dam to break, won't let up, and I just stare at the ceiling for hours.
> 
> Kate shows up at about noon, looking for I-don't-know-what. But as soon as she steps into the Hyperion, she notices that even her normally somber mood isn't dark enough for the setting. "What's going on?" She asks.
> 
> Cordy looks up, sees who it is, and quietly leaves the room. Wesley drops his book and looks at Kate, but doesn't speak. I don't move, but I tell her. "Buffy's dead."
> 
> She stands there, simply in shock for a moment, and then comes to my side. She never met Buffy, but she's heard more than I'm sure she ever wanted to about her from my mouth. Considering the fact that I'm a quiet person by nature, everyone around me still seems to know more about Buffy than Buffy does in a surprisingly short period of time. 
> 
> She sits on the edge of the couch, obviously expecting something, but I don't offer. After a long while, she leans back into the cushions, and just watches me. I ignore her as best as I can, but it finally gets to me, and I turn to address her.
> 
> Looking around, I realize that Wesley is gone, arguing about something in the other room with Gunn. I haven't seen Cordy since she departed the room, and a quick look at the clock on the wall confirms that it's been hours since then. Kate must have more patience than even I do.
> 
> Apparently deciding that I look ready to talk, Kate doesn't meet my eyes, but simply continues to look up and down me, as if assessing something. "You really loved her, didn't you?"
> 
> I don't say anything, just nod, but she keeps talking. "Was she it, Angel?"
> 
> I look over at her, not sure what she means. She seems to understand, and clarifies herself. 
> 
> "Was she it. Was she the one... the one that fits your soul so perfectly, makes you want to get out of bed every day, makes you want to be a better person."
> 
> I nod wordlessly, but that dam is becoming weaker and weaker. I don't want to spill on Kate. I won't hurt her, I have that much control, but I don't want to frighten her, either. So, I stand, intending to leave.
> 
> But that isn't part of Kate's plan, either. She grabs my arm, and I sit reluctantly back down next to her, resolving to keep my cool. 
> 
> "Angel," She says, looking at me with those wide, ocean-wide blue eyes of hers, "You need to talk." It's a statement, leaving nothing to question, but I question it anyway. After all, isn't that what I do? Question the unquestionable?
> 
> "No," I breathe quietly, but she hears me.
> 
> "You do, Angel. I know you won't hurt me, and I promise you won't scare me. Please, please, just face your feelings. They won't go away with time, you know. They'll just get stronger and stronger."
> 
> I turn away from her, anger at the gods, the Powers, the Prophets, at everyone, for killing Buffy. And with a small growl and an almost intangible change, I'm in game face before I realize it.
> 
> I return my gaze to Kate, who looks back, strong and steady, into what I know are the terrifying yellow eyes of a predator. I calm a little, and I know that my eyes are now their usual brown, probably flecked with gold.
> 
> But when I stop considering her, and just think about Buffy, the injustice of it all makes me angry, so angry. I stride hastily away from Kate, and punch my way through the wall of the Hyperion. Sunlight burns my hand, but I pull it back in quickly enough that it doesn't do more than that.
> 
> I feel the splinters beneath my skin, some of them long and as angry looking as I know I am. I keep out of the beam of light that now drifts across the Hyperion's lobby floor, but I stride back and forth, pacing all the time that I mumble curses and other angry calls at anyone who had anything to do with Buffy's demise.
> 
> Eventually, exhausted as I am, I return to Kate's arms, and she takes me back without a worry about my anger or my unpredictability concerning her. She cradles me in her arms as I cry the tears of the damned, of a man who cannot even think that his own death would bring release. Because I know what lies after death.
> 
> At least, for me. For Buffy, it's probably a beautiful place of light and joy and white picket fences and all the things that she deserved but never got. A place where heartbreak doesn't exist, and death doesn't break people apart, but instead, brings them closer together.
> 
> But I'm not willing to go back to what I know I'll find. Because I haven't spent my life in salvation of the human race, but rather, in the destruction of the same. And as awful a place as the world may sometimes seem, it beats Hell even on its worst days.
> 
> When my face is swollen with tears, and my body exhausted from the emotions that have fraught my strong, vampiric body, bringing it to a strength where I could not fight even a human child, she helps me into bed. As I lay there, not quite tired enough to sleep, but without enough energy to move, she fetches tweezers and warm water and gauze, and pulls the splinters out of my hand and arm.
> 
> It's painstaking work, and it hurts, but I pay it no notice, other than to thank her when she's finished. I couldn't have done that in my current state, and I wouldn't want to leave the wounds to fester. They wouldn't kill me, but it would be uncomfortable.
> 
> I don't want to be alone yet, and she seems to know that, settling down in a chair next to the bed and waiting for sleep to come and take me. It takes a long time, but finally it does. And when I awake, all of the anger and fear and hurt wash over me again, but subdued in their intensity. 
> 
> Kate is still by the side of my bed, but she's asleep, and I notice from a peek outside, that it's no longer day. I pick up her light, human body, and place her between the sheets of my bed. She doesn't twitch. 
> 
> When I head downstairs, I find Wesley and Cordelia asleep against each other on the couch. It looks like they were talking, and comforting each other, and then fell asleep, or something of the sort. Gunn is again nowhere to be seen. I heard about his friend, and right now, I assume he's probably out mourning his loss, which came too soon behind our latest tragedy to be properly dealt with.
> 
> My employers and ex-employees stir when I approach, and Wesley wipes his eyes as Cordy stretches, long and deep like a cat, yawning as she does so. They notice where they are, exchange embarrassed glances, and spring away from each other, but nobody comments. 
> 
> Kate wakes up later in the night, or early in the morning, technically, and comes downstairs. I thank her for forcing me and helping me to face the stronger demons within than even Angelus, and she thanks me for letting her sleep, telling me that she needed it. She insists on checking on my now-bandaged hand, and allow her, before offering her breakfast.
> 
> She declines, and says she has to leave. I let her go, just watching enviously as she strides into the early morning dawn sunlight. Cordy and Wes are silently fixing coffee for themselves and blood for me behind my back, and I thankfully take the mug, but don't let my eyes wander for the retreating form of the woman whom I consider my best friend.
> 
> I'm not ready for a relationship, now. After Buffy, I'm not sure if I'll ever be able to love another, because I truly believe that she is- was, I correct myself painfully, my soulmate. But Kate is my best friend, and for that, I'm truly grateful.
> 
> I won't get over her today, or a month from now, or maybe even ever. But Kate helped me see that Buffy had to go. Someone, or something had its reasons, and I can't interfere. It'll hurt like hell, but she's another person that I will have to grow to remember, instead of mourning.
> 
> But there'll never be another like you, Buffy Anne Summers.

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   [1]: mailto:teneljade@netzero.net
   [2]: http://www.geocities.com/princess_mcphee/buffy.html
   [3]: http://www.geocities.com/princess_mcphee/b_afanfic.html



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